Don't die without telling me where you're going
by Konnie-chan
Summary: HUGHESXROY. SPOILERS all throughout the end of the movie, so beware. My take on how the movie should have ended, and what would have happened afterwards. Read and Review, if you please?
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Though this is my first attempt at FMA fanfiction, this baby has been bothering me for months. After watching the movie, it couldn't be ignored any longer. _

_Warnings: There are BIG spoilers here, for the series and the movie. Plus, it's YAOI. That's men with men doing stuff nine out of ten do with ladies, ok? Rated M mostly for mature themes, but we'll get to the sex, I hope._

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I just owe a lot of money._

_Enjoy!_

**DON'T DIE WITHOUT TELLING ME WHERE YOU'RE GOING**

**CHAPTER ONE**

Roy wondered if this was what it felt like for the Ishbalites. Chaos and destruction all around them. Ruthless troupes closing in on them. Not knowing why they were being attacked. Central City had been reduced to ashes and screams, to gunshots and fear. Central City was knowing terror in a way it had never known it before. This was not some distant war with uncertain motives. This was what they had brought upon so many other towns, smaller, less prepared towns. It looked like the people of Central could scream and fear and bleed as hard as any other people. In a way, Roy found it poetic.

In a sad, angry way, it also made him feel alive for the first time in years. This was it, the reason he had joined the military to begin with. He was finally given the chance to fight FOR his country, rather than against another. It was his purpose. It even felt good using his alchemy again. The power itching in his fingers, the glorious moment of release. If he was going to die, a sort of morbid thrill in him screamed that it should be like this. There was no escaping this time. No sheer luck or cowardice would rob him of this. He would die in the same way as his victims. It was fair and beautiful and he couldn't wait.

When he saw them, Edward and Alphonse, working together, he smiled. It hadn't all been in vain. He had known, hoped, Ed was still alive. Back before everything had blown over, helping the Elrics had been one of the things that had kept him going. One thing out of three, really. After killing Bradley, he had been lost. He hadn't had a way of knowing if he had helped Ed at all, he had ruined his career and any chance of doing something worth with his life and, somehow, revenge hadn't felt as fulfilling as he had hoped. Two years he'd gone without knowing why he bothered taking his next breath. Now, he could not only go like he'd always wanted, he could take a sense of peace with him as well.

But then the shrimp had to go and ruin everything. He had to beat the bad guy, had to play the martyr. And again, he was left alive, as a simple by-stander, hearing Al's desperate cries of anguish. In a matter of seconds, he was useless again.

Al broke loose from his hold and made as if to join his brother. He understood then. What Edward was about to do needed to be done, for sure. He didn't understand much of what was going on, but knew enough. Someone needed to close that portal, Ed had said, to stop the invaders from passing through ever again, and it was likely not something Edward was going to live through if the people on the other side were as friendly as they appeared to be. But, just as Alphonse had proven it, there was still a chance to jump after Edward.

He grabbed Alphonse just in time, throwing him back, and jumped. The youngest Elric yelped in surprised, pretty much like his older brother did a second later when, in a similar fashion, Roy pushed him off the platform. Al was there to stop his brother from falling, of course, he knew he would. He locked eyes with Ed one last time. His big amber eyes widened in surprise, then darkened in understanding as Roy waved him goodbye nonchalantly.

* * *

Roy was shaken off a painful stupor when the ship crashed on the ground. Moaning, he tried to stand up, but voices from the outside froze him in place. He wouldn't have expected to understand what people from another freaking dimension were saying. Had he made it?

Roy dragged himself on all fours to the nearest exit, being as quiet as he could in spite of the soreness spreading all over his body, and cursing under his breath that his stupid survival instinct had found a way to kick in again. He should be stomping outside, meeting the danger head first. Wasn't that the reason he was there? There was a low, guttural, female-like voice and utterances of panic in the background. Peaking through shredded steel, Roy saw a mass of black gooey make its way to a young girl holding a still body. A black uniform came into view, then a gunshot, and the gooey was dead.

It was his chance. If he was going to close that portal and/or die, he could not stay hiding forever. Making an effort that had him wincing, Roy kicked the wrecked door and stumbled outside. The strain and the excess of light had his one good eye loose focus, but he could still here the click of a gun being cocked, and his heart skipped a beat in anticipation.

The shot never came, though. Only a surprised gasp.

"What the…?" His heart skipped another beat at the voice, from entirely different reasons. "Roy?"

A million thoughts raced through his brain, as the face that had haunted his dreams for the past two years started to become clearer and clearer. Homunculi, chimeras, successful human transmutation, he hadn't done it, had he? Hallucinations, concussions, lunacy, was he still asleep? A nervous chuckle left his lips, that turned louder and more hysterical as the figure crouched next to him, wrapping a strong arm around him, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Fuck!" Roy exclaimed, almost merrily, gripping the other man's coat desperately. "I finally cracked, didn't I? Or…" Well, it could be. Maybe God did exist after all. "Am I dead, then?"

Hughes frowned, disconcerted.

"Well," his voice wavered. "Yeah."

_TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: This chapter came a lot faster than intended, but that is just because half of it was already written when I posted the first one. Though I am most definitively finding my rythm again, I'm sure it'll take me at least two weeks to update again. If any of you had had to endure my YNM and Saint Seiya stories, you'd realise that is really, really fast for me. Really. _

_Thanks to those who reviewed._

_Enjoy!_

**DON'T DIE WITHOUT TELLING ME WHERE YOU'RE GOING**

**CHAPTER TWO**

Roy sat in a secluded corner, nursing his various wounds and bruises, from which the pain was starting to become more focused and acute. It wasn't the pain what kept him rooted to that spot. He sure as hell had seen a lot worse. He just sat there, watching the men as they busied themselves, trying to close the portal. There had been little he could have done to help, without his alchemy and in that state, except giving them some pointers. They seemed to be managing quite well on their own, though, and Ed should have been about to do his bit on the other side.

Every few seconds, one of the men would steal a furtive glance his way. It was only natural, considering the scene he'd made upon arrival, and from where he'd arrived to begin with. He noticed Maes' stares the most, particularly because he could hardly keep his eyes off of him. The first thing that came to his mind, once he concluded he was neither dead, nor delusional, was how healthy Hughes looked. It was silly, really; Maes had never been a sickly person, but his memory had somehow distorted into this pale, macabre figure from Roy's nightmares. He couldn't understand how he'd forgotten how alive Maes used to be. The other man's thoughts must have been running around the same tracks because, whilst he was, unlike Roy, otherwise engaged, he kept turning to look at him, with a deep frown etched on his brow, as if afraid Roy would simply disappear.

The portal was eventually closed and most of them started leaving in a rush, like rats from a sinking ship. Roy wondered then, if he hadn't been helpful, and hadn't been killed, why hadn't he gone back to Amestris? To his life? The answer to his question removed a red, white and black armband from his uniform and tucked it safely in his pocket, before rushing out the room himself. Roy almost goes after him, his throat closing painfully when he couldn't hear his footsteps any longer, but before he could muster the strength to get up, the man had returned, looking as grim as he'd never seen him look before or after Ishbal. He walked to the girl he'd first seen, who was still clinging to the dead body of a boy Roy found strangely familiar.

"The cops are on their way," he told her, his tone bordering on disdainful. The girl's eyes widened in fear. Maes scowled and stood a bit straighter than what was natural, then his eyes softened and his sighed deeply, removing his cap and running a hand through his hair in one swift motion. "It wouldn't be wise to be here when they get here."

The girl took a moment to react, then nodded gravely. It seemed to Roy that there was a lot more being said than what he'd just heard, but he couldn't make sense out of it. The girl put the boy down reverently, before rushing out the door. Now it was just Maes, him and the corpses. How ironic. Maes gazed at the boy's body for a little longer before turning to walk towards him. With careful, calculated steps, he approached him, and Roy noted dully how his neck ached as he strained to keep his gaze on Hughes'. He was grateful when the man finally knelt in front of him.

"We should leave, too." His tone was much kinder, almost timid. "I can come off clean of this, if they don't find me, and you… well." He smiled and shook his head, disbelieving. Maes stretched his hand towards him. "Can you walk?"

* * *

After a few blocks, Roy started to regain his footing, but although his steps were firmer, Maes never let go of his middle. The streets were deserted, in the profound silence that only gets to them when everyone is too afraid to go outside. Only a few hushed voices and running feet could be heard once in a while. Neither of them spoke, either, giving Roy the impression that they, too, were sneaking around. Something had happened that night, and it made Roy curious almost enough to shake him from his apathy. 

He knew he should be feeling something, being in a strange world, with no chance of ever seeing home again, stripped of his one and only talent, being helped through strange streets by his dead best friend. There was no joy, worry, fear, nothing. He only felt cold when Hughes pulled away to look for the keys to his apartment.

Though he did no longer feel about to keel over, he let Maes guide him to a small couch. Instead of looking at him and risk the start of a conversation, Roy focused on studying Hughes home. It was a small place, not totally devoid of personality, but close enough. There was barely any furniture at all, just the couch, a small table, a chair and a bookshelf that had not ten books in it. There was also a big trunk, hidden in a corner, with a picture of Maes father resting on it, a black ribbon tied neatly on one corner of the frame. Roy also noticed this was the only picture laying around. Everything was way too neat and cold for Maes, but again, this was not him, not his Maes. Maes would have never been quiet for so long.

As if to contradict him, Maes voice was heard from another room. Roy hadn't even noticed he'd moved away.

"Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?" His tone was casual, as if he'd just popped up for a visit, though Roy noticed an empty quality to it. "I don't have any coffee, though. I used to, you know, was saving it for a special occasion, but then this member of the party came over, you know how it is… I have tea. There are some unused leaves, if you want some."

When he didn't reply, Hughes head popped out from the kitchen door and stared at him expectantly. Roy had to take a deep, shaky breath to find his voice, and still his answer came out raspy and awkward.

"Not hungry, tea's fine."

Hughes nodded curtly and disappeared again.

"Anyway," the other man continued. "You can stay here as long as you want. Your apartment, well, they auctioned it, you know? I might have bought it, even. It was just a bit more expensive than the coffee Herr Doenitz drank, heh. I can help you get back on your feet with no problem, though we'll need to get you papers. I know someone who can fix that up for you. You can even change your name, if you want. Not that there's anything wrong with Roy, mind you. Roy's fine. You might want to consider a new last name, what with your features and all. Something a bit more German…"

Ok, so this Maes also had the ability to ramble. He sounded more hesitant, though, more nervous than Roy had never heard him sound, even during his months of courting Gracia. Roy tuned him off out of habit, relishing on the sound of the babble in the background, and stared at his shaking hands. He really needed to snap out of it, react in some way.

Something white by the door caught his attention. He stood up too fast, causing his head to reel for a moment or two, and walked up to it with heavy steps. His intention was to kneel to pick it up, but he somehow managed to find himself sitting on the floor, with no will left to get back up. It was an envelope, crisp except for a tiny portion of a foot print on the corner. 'Mr. Maes Hughes' it read, and Roy felt something break in him upon reading the elegantly handwritten words. The letter slipped from his shaking fingers. It couldn't be him. It just wasn't possible.

"Roy?" He turned to see Hughes, who had just re-entered the living room and was staring at him intently, holding a steaming mug in each hand. He walked silently up to him and sat by his side, leaving the mugs on the ground. "Hey, if you want to leave, I can get you a cab. You shouldn't move around too much. Do you have somewhere else to go?" His tone was not in the least sceptical, only caring and slightly disappointed, with a hint of resignation, as if he had seen it coming. Roy managed to snort.

"Aren't you going to ask?" he whispered, looking down.

Maes smiled sheepishly, picking the mugs back up, and handed one to Roy. He took it with both hands, lest it should meet the same fate as the envelope.

"Ask what, Roy?" he said with a hint of humor. How about why he was there, or who was he, really? How about, is this real? Maes went on. "Even if you explain it to me, I'll probably not understand. I'm just…" He swallowed hard. "I'm just glad you're here. Is that wrong?"

Well, he couldn't quite argue with that, even if it did sound a bit simplistic. He wanted to say 'it's not me. I'm not who you think I am'. but he wasn't really sure of that himself anymore. Maybe he should just be glad. Sighing loudly, he took a small sip of the washed out tea. It tasted like hell, but it felt good. He hadn't realised how cold he was.

"I'm tired," he said softly, in what was the closest he'd got to a normal, casual tone since getting there. His comment caught Maes mid-sip of his own tea, so he let out a sound of agreement and rushed to put the cup down.

"Right. Of course. Right." He made as to get up. Roy then noticed something, or lack thereof, on Maes left hand, that had him instinctively jerking to grab it. The rest of his tea spilled all over his uniform and Hughes jumped, white as a sheet. "What?" he yelped, genuinely scared.

Roy eased his grip, but didn't let go. He didn't say anything, just stared at the bare finger. He couldn't very well tell Hughes about the jolt of quasi-joy he experienced when he finally realised Gracia wasn't around, and why.

"Hey," Maes said with a tenderness that sent shivers down Roy's spine, and used his free hand to lift his chin so that their eyes met. "I'm going to need my hand back."

Roy smiled and let go, running both hands through his hair.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

Hughes stood, and pulled him up with him.

"Come on, lets get you tucked in." He patted Roy's back, guiding him towards the bedroom. "You can have the bed tonight, I'll take the couch. I think I have pajamas that'll fit you, though you are a bit too skinny. "

Roy only hoped this Hughes wasn't fond of ducks on his nightwear.

_TBC_


	3. Chapter 3

**DON'T DIE WITHOUT TELLING ME WHERE YOU'RE GOING**

**CHAPTER THREE**

Maes was hugging him, tight, whispering words of comfort in his ears, and Roy wanted to hug his friend back, but his arms hung limply to his side, and try as he might, he felt nothing but boredom. Maes hands started traveling up and down his back, the caress turning more and more tender, and his breath, warm brushing his neck, started to hitch a bit. Roy's head tilted to the side, trying to find anything in his surroundings to catch his attention.

It was his own living room, he realized. Both of them were crouching on the floor, on which Roy could see portions of a blood-stained transmutation circle. He remembered then, that it was the reason his friend was clinging to him so desperately. He had used that circle to bring him back and, apparently, he had succeeded. He figured he should feel glad. Maes was back and, by the soft, delicious kisses he started trailing down Roy's throat, his best friend had missed him just as he had. But Roy found nothing more that physical satisfaction when Maes hands found their way under his shirt, when he was ceremoniously rested on his back, and his friend started attacking his skin with his tongue.

Roy just noticed the sensations with curious detachment, and did nothing to return the gesture. It could be anyone fucking him, for all he cared. He could have gotten that from anyone. Why had he bothered bringing Hughes back, with the risks it entailed? And with that thought was that he noticed, he had both his arms, both his legs, his remaining eye. He was in no particular pain and his gut felt fine. He was not missing any essential parts, but there had been blood on the transmutation circle. His blood, of that he was sure. What had he given in exchange for his friend?

Maes held him close, mumbling incoherently with rapture. 'I love you,' he whispered. 'I've always loved you.' But Roy felt nothing. He actually realized, as his friend heartbeat became erratic and frantic with release, that he could not hear his own. His chest was empty, a void of nothingness, and he realized he was not moving, not out of disinterest, but because he couldn't. The blood in his veins had started to crust, his limbs went from limpness to rigidity, and Roy knew what he'd given.

* * *

The disorientation and the panic that seized him upon waking was not new to him. Once his panting had subdued a bit, Roy rolled over to his side and resigned himself to yet another sleepless night. It soon became obvious, however, that he wasn't just feeling disoriented because of a nightmare, he actually did not know where he was. His good eye blinked, trying to focus on the darkness of the strange room. Even the air smelled different, yet… there was a lingering smell, something mild and musky, that eased him back into comfort instinctively. The sheets smelled familiar, they smelled like the dream he'd been having before it twisted into hell.

Roy hadn't woke up at home for the last two years, maybe even longer, if ever. The fact that the memory of where he was eluded him stopped worrying him as soon as he felt safe again. He was warm where he was, and just the tiny bit of skin from his face that was not covered by the comforter let him know getting up was not something he would look forward to. But his mouth felt dry and he felt as if all the liquid from his body had gathered in his bladder, that threatened to start hurting unless he relieved it soon.

Groaning, he placed his bare feet on the wooden floor. They weren't tiles, but to him the planks felt just as cold. The pyjama bottoms were too long for him, and so where the sleeves, he noticed curiously, so he had to manoeuvre himself carefully into a perfect balance that would allow him to step on the legs and protect his feet without loosing the pants entirely. There was also the matter of not knowing his way around and having no clue of where the light switch was. Roy curled his toes as a reflex, in case he ran into something.

Finding the door was easy, the room was apparently no bigger than a cupboard. Upon crossing the threshold, the memories of that night started to come back and Roy found himself a little out of breath. Finding the bathroom suddenly became the least of his worries. Had it all been a dream? Again, he doubted his own consciousness and stood frozen in place. The strange room, the oversized garments, the smell in the air; if he was awake, then that meant…

Forgetting about endangered toes and barely secured pyjama bottoms, he rushed to where the couch had been. There was just a bit of light coming from the window, a luxury the bedroom had lacked, so it wasn't pitch black. The figure sleeping on said couch, shivering from the cold and still clad in his uniform, left no room for interpretation.

Roy knelt next to him, studying the other man intently. He'd fallen asleep with his glasses on, the dimwit. Carefully, tenderly, Roy pulled them off his face. What had this man thought when choosing that particular frame? If the concept of a duplicate of Hughes was difficult enough to grasp, the idea that this man would be synchronized to the other's tastes to the point of choosing the same frames for his glasses left Roy numbed and dazzled. He was different, Roy had witnessed hundreds of subtle differences in their short acquaintance. The similarities where much deeper, though. It was in his smile, as timid as it had been; in his fright, in his gaze, some gestures. Somehow, this was just as much his Hughes as the real one had been.

Roy traced his fingers gingerly over the man's hairline. They even had the same haircut. It couldn't be a coincidence. But a lot had changed, even for Roy himself, and he wondered what would happen now. Two years of missing him, of having him as main character of his nightmares, of letting his memory eat away at Roy's soul, and now he had him back. He knew he had been more than a little non-responsive earlier, he knew that, in spite his first reaction, he was taking it too calmly. So was Hughes, though. For what he'd told him, he was also supposed to be dead in this world, yet he'd welcomed him into his home without questioning. What would they do in the morning? Have breakfast and compare realities?

Hughes shivered again and turned to his side, mumbling something incoherent. Roy's hand remained suspended in the air, ready to resume the caress as soon as he was sure the other man wouldn't wake. One greenish eye opened groggily, though, and Roy pulled his hand behind his back as fast as he could. Hughes stared at him, eyes unfocussed, before sitting bolt upright. Roy could almost see his heart rush its way up to his throat.

"Jesus, Roy!" He panted, never taking his eyes of him and pale as if he'd just seen a ghost. Hah. "You want to scare me into an early grave?"

Roy knew it was a rhetorical question, but he winced nonetheless, shaking his head.

"No, sorry." Would his voice ever go back to normal? "I… can't find the bathroom."

Maes relaxed visibly and chuckled a bit. He stood up with some effort, using Roy's arm for support, then ruffled Roy's hair instinctively, as if they'd known each other forever, as if… Roy just stared dumbly after him.

"It's outside, at the end of the hall. No private bathroom for this public servant!" he chanted merrily, heading to the front door. Roy stood up slowly and walked up to him. Maes opened the door and Roy stopped at the threshold, looking in both direction. Maes placed a hand on the small of his back and whispered kindly, "To your left."

Roy had to try very hard for his breath not to hitch at the shiver that ran down his spine. Maybe he needed the bathroom more than he'd realised.

When he came back, feeling decisively more comfortable, Hughes was nowhere to be found. He poked his head in the kitchen; nothing. He walked to the bedroom and stopped dead in his tracks. Maes was there, sitting on the bed, pulling the covers over his legs.

"Should… should I take the couch now?" Were they taking turns?

Maes chuckled and shook his head no, patting the space next to him.

"We'll have to share, I'm afraid. I have to work in the morning and I can't afford a sore neck or a cold. It'll be a tight fit. Come on."

It was phrased in such a way- not even a question, really- that Roy could not feel uncomfortable even when he knew he should, at the back of his mind. It was a good thing, too; whatever would happen in the morning, he had Hughes back. Whatever misconceptions or alterations their relationship had suffered in his mind in the last two years, it seemed Maes was still his best friend, and he better start remembering that. He climbed on the bed and settled in with his back to Hughes, just in case. The man turned off the bedside lamp, lay down himself and snuggled closer, sighing contently.

Roy smiled genuinely for the first time in forever, not even caring about the tightness in his chest at the contact. Trust Hughes to be so self-conscious-less.

His eyes drifted close, figuring the company would keep his nightmares at bay, hoping beyond hope the closeness would not elicit the other, less nightmarish yet equally disturbing dreams.

TBC


End file.
